Eye of the Beholder
by salanderjade
Summary: No matter how perfectly he arranged and refined them, they were nothing more than dolls. Try as he might, no amount of paint or powder could give them back what they had lost. They were broken. Detective Katniss Everdeen searches for a killer known only as the Dollmaker.
1. Chapter 1

Prologue: Watch Six

He hated the way fear robbed them of any semblance of life and light in those last moments. Ghastly gray dusted their cheeks and blew out their eyes like a candle. No matter how perfectly he arranged and refined them, they were nothing more than dolls. Their faces a parody, their eyes glassy and cold. Try as he might, no amount of paint or powder could give them back what they had lost. They were broken.

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The uniforms created a perimeter around the building—a thin blue line holding back the ravenous horde of reporters and onlookers.

Katniss Everdeen drew a deep breath as she was waved through the barricade after flashing her credentials. This was the third one in as many months. She parked her car and dried her hands on her pants before climbing out. Her partner was already on scene. Flipping open the notebook where she had hurriedly jotted a few details upon receiving the call, she reviewed them so they would be fresh in her mind. The victim was a female in her late teens. Her boss had discovered her upon coming in to close the restaurant down for the night. The woman was hysterical when she called 911. She had already provided an ID. The girl's name was Rue.

She was halfway across the parking lot before a voice brought her up short. Turning swiftly, she caught a glimpse of one of the SID guys waving to her. She raised an acknowledging hand and quickened her step. As she drew closer, Finnick Odair pushed a gloved hand through rumpled copper waves then stated, "We're ready to get started as soon as you're done. Don't expect to find much of anything if the other two are anything to go by. This guy doesn't make mistakes."

Katniss gave him a sympathetic look, silently agreeing with his assessment. SID had gone over the two previous locations with a fine tooth comb and come up empty. No hair, no prints, no fibers. Nothing. The only bit of evidence they had so far was a partial imprint from a muddy boot found just inside the door where the first victim was discovered. Glimmer Downs, her mind stubbornly insisted, not victim. She forced herself to use their names, refusing to give in to the urge to tar them with a meaningless label. To take their names was to forget that they were human. To sweep aside the fact that they had lives and families and dreams before crossing paths with the faceless stranger Katniss now sought.

"He can't keep it up forever," she said. "Eventually, he'll slip up and when that happens, we'll nail his ass to the wall. It will happen, Finn. Just be patient."

Finnick toyed with the edge of his glove, snapping it repeatedly against the thin skin of his wrist. "We're catching a lot of heat from upstairs on this one. People are scared. They're beginning to lose faith in our ability to keep them safe. Rumor has it that the Mayor himself called the chief to demand that something be done. They want this guy off the streets, sooner rather than later."

She worried her bottom lip as she turned that over in her mind. Cases such as this were bad enough without the high brass sticking their noses in. High jingo, she'd heard it called by one of the old guys. Cray, a forty year veteran, always said that when a case had high jingo, you worked it by the book and watched your six. Katniss didn't put much stock in Cray's stories but that was one piece of advice that she took to heart. She'd spent most of her life perfecting the art of watching her back.

That skill stood her in good stead at the academy where guys outnumbered the girls by five to one. Her class of fifty cadets included twelve females, an oddity in and of itself. By the end of the term, only Katniss and one other had made the cut. Johanna Mason was a hard-boiled survivor much like Katniss herself. The first thing Jo had done after receiving her badge was to get a tattoo commemorating the occasion. The Salvador Dali clock with six being the largest and most noticeable on the face was clearly a nod to Cray's bit of wisdom.

"I guess that means I'd better get busy then," she joked. "Don't want to do anything to upset the Mayor."

Finnick chuckled. "We can't have that. Get a move on, Everdeen. You're holding up an important investigation. Those of us that have to work for a living have to wait until you and Hawthorne make your rounds. I promised Annie I'd be there for dinner tonight. Don't make me out to be one of those guys that lies to his wife."

"Don't worry, Finn. We'll get you home before the oven timer goes off." Katniss pulled a pair of gloves out of her pocket and rolled them on. "Besides, she's going out with me and Jo this weekend. She won't have time to be mad at you. It's Johanna's last weekend of freedom so we have to give her a good send off."

"Whatever you do, don't corrupt my wife. I married a good girl, Everdeen, and I want to keep it that way. You and Johanna keep your heathen ways to yourself. Annie doesn't need your bad habits."

Katniss snorted as she shouldered by him. "You just keep telling yourself that, Finnick. Annie doesn't need my help to pick up bad habits. She just plays at being sweet and innocent because you have a thing for that. I know about the schoolgirl fantasy. Don't tempt me to make that knowledge public."

"Bite your tongue," he scolded. "The world ain't ready for that."

"Ready or not, here I come." She murmured as she ducked through the swinging door that led into the kitchen. "I'll give you a yell as soon as we're ready for you."

Finnick tossed her a crooked grin. "I'll be waiting. Watch six, Katniss."

"Always," she mouthed quietly. Giving him a nod, she let the door ease shut behind her.

An older woman sat at the work counter with her face buried in her hands. Muffled sobs leaked from between her tightly wound fingers. At the sound of the door, she sat up, daubing her eyes with a tattered napkin. Short snatches of breath and a voice more crumpled than the apron lying forgotten on her lap gave away her secret. She had been crying long and hard by the look of her. Katniss thumbed a card from her jacket pocket and proffered it. The woman took it and held it in trembling fingers; her eyes lost and hopeless.

"Sae, I'm very sorry for your loss. I know this has been difficult for you. My name is Katniss Everdeen. I'm a detective with the Panem Police Department. " She stuck her hands back in her pockets as she watched the woman carefully. The first conversation was inevitably the hardest. She didn't want to make the woman any more upset than she already was. She needed Sae to focus. The trick was to show respect for the woman's grief, but also to get a cogent account of what she had witnessed. The slightest slip up now could result in the perp getting a get out of jail card. It had to be done right. No mistakes. "Take your time. Gather your thoughts. When you're ready, please tell me what happened as clearly and concisely as you can."

Sae visibly swallowed, patted her eyes with the soaked napkin, and heaved a shaky sigh. "I got here about ten o'clock to close up. Everything looked just like it always did except Rue wasn't out front. I thought she was in the back, filling up the sugars or something. When I opened the door, I could see her lying on the floor. I called out to her but she didn't move." New tears leaked out and ran down her face as Sae fought for control. "She didn't move, didn't do anything. I got scared that maybe she'd fallen and got hurt so I ran over. When I saw her face, I screamed. I couldn't help it. She just looked so…" The woman's voice broke on a stifled sob as she covered her face with her hands once more.

Katniss reached for a roll of paper towels sitting nearby and unwound a few. She folded them neatly together and tucked them gently into the distraught woman's hand. "Take a few minutes to compose yourself. I need to speak with my partner but I'll be right back. You take all the time you need." She smiled at the woman's grateful look before turning and walking deeper into the kitchen. She could see the body lying in the open area between the sink and the massive freezers that lined the back wall of the kitchen. Gale Hawthorne's lanky figure was propped up against one of the brushed steel doors as he held a cell phone up to his ear listening intently. He flicked a glance in her direction, waved her forward, and then turned his attention back to his phone. Katniss stilled herself, closing her eyes and taking deep fortifying breaths before she allowed herself to look.

The small form was horrible in its stillness. She lay as if sleeping on the cold, gray tiles of the kitchen, her hair spread out in a halo around her. Katniss stopped in the door and let her eyes sweep the scene. She was struck by the tableau. Death, she had learned, had many faces and forms. There was seldom any rhyme or reason to it.

This one was different. She lay gracefully on her side, hands loosely twined together as if in prayer, her face tilted toward the ceiling. There were no visible signs of violence except for the utter lack of movement. What took her back, what stole her breath was the girl's face. Painted with an artist's precision. A meaningless smile beamed from beneath wide, vacant eyes. A picture perfect doll.

"The Dollmaker," Gale observed grimly from behind her. Katniss nodded silently, her eyes locked on the girl before her. "That makes three. Dammit, how are we going to catch this guy?"

Katniss shook her head, feeling Gale's frustration as if it were her own. "I don't know. I just don't know."

End Part 1

A/N Watch six means "watch your back"... the phrase as well as the Dollmaker and facepainting belongs to Michael Connelly. This story is influenced by Mr. Connelly's book "The Concrete Blonde".


	2. Behind Every Pretty Picture

Chapter 1: Behind Every Pretty Picture

_"Sunsets make you forget it's the smog that makes their colors so brilliant, that behind every pretty picture there can be an ugly story." ~~Harry Bosch, as written by Michael Connelly_

The drowned light seeped through the blinds in dribs and drabs, forming stair-stepped puddles on the floor, the bed, the bodies twined together in the dark. Quiet gasps and muted sighs stood in counterpoint to the soft slap of skin meeting skin. Ebb and flow. Want giving way to need. In and out. Back and forth. Faster. Harder. Deeper. Then nothing.

Like water down the drain, it left him hollow. Lifting his head, he stared at her face, willing himself to continue. Her closed eyes and parted lips should have set him afire. Instead, it bled him dry. He slowed then stilled. Her blood tipped fingers slid down his back, urging him on but instead of rekindling the flame, it left him cold. The moment unraveled as it moved on. His feet found the floor as he shoved his hands into disheveled curls. She rose up on elbow, sidled closer, and pressed herself to his back.

"Come back down here," she purred. "I'll make it worth your while."

He snorted under his breath, retrieved his boxers from the floor and pulled them on before climbing to his feet. "If it was that easy, I wouldn't have left," he fired back.

She stiffened, nails biting into her palms as his stinging words found their mark. "You're a bastard, Peeta. Fuck you."

His head tilted to the side as he sent her an amused grin. "Maybe next time, sweetheart. Probably never." He paused long enough to slip a t-shirt over his head before scooping up his shoes and making his way to the door. He stopped with his hand on the knob, wondering if leaving was really what he wanted. Embarrassment and anger twisted his gut. "Dammit," he breathed. "What the hell am I doing?" He yanked the door open, putting a fist sized hole in the wall as they met with a sharp thud. He didn't apologize, didn't stop to assess the damage, and didn't give a backward glance. He left…a maneuver he'd perfected over the years, and never let get out of practice.

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He didn't go home. He couldn't go there. There was nothing but bare walls and dingy carpet. Home. He didn't even remember what that meant anymore, if he ever really knew. You can't miss something you never had.

Things changed, people changed. Some things, though, were forever written in stone. He would always come up just a little short, be just a little too late, and would never be good enough. She made sure that fact was indelibly imprinted on his soul. Useless. Worthless. Insignificant. It didn't matter that he graduated with high honors, that he won the state title in his weight division three years running, that he owned his own business. Hers was the voice in his head that whispered in his lowest moments that no matter what he did, it wouldn't change anything. It was pointless. He was pointless.

His phone chirped from the front pocket of his jeans, gratefully diverting his attention. He tapped the screen and let a genuine smile cross his face. If there was one person that always managed to cheer him up, Prim could.

What's going on, big brother? You didn't come by like you promised.

Peeta felt a slight twinge of guilt as he took in those words. He very seldom broke his word to Prim. She was the one person in the world that loved him unconditionally. She was all the family he had. He worried his bottom lip as he tapped a response, hoping that she wasn't too upset. He would have to make it up to her.

Sorry, little sis. Got busy at work and lost track of time. I'll make it up to you.

He hit send and prayed that she would accept the paper-thin excuse. It was pathetically weak and he didn't doubt that she would see straight through it. He hoped that she wouldn't call him on it. He couldn't lie to her because she knew him better than anyone. She'd know it for what it was the minute the words left his mouth. The phone beeped a second later. He held his breath as he read the reply.

Tell what's her name that she'd better be good to you or she'll have to deal with me. Tomorrow then. No take backs this time.

A sigh of relief fell from his lips along with a rueful chuckle. Busted. He knew he couldn't fool her.

See you tomorrow first thing. Have a good sleep.

Her winking smiley face reply lifted his spirits. He locked the phone and shoved it back into his pocket, the smile lingering as he resumed his aimless stroll. Prim. He often wished that he shared her untainted view of the world. She saw the good in everything, even him. She accepted and loved without question. He hadn't been that open in too many years to count, if ever. Nora Mellark had seen to that. How something as good and bright as Prim had come from that woman was one of the mysteries of the universe. He couldn't fathom it. Didn't understand it and yet, he thanked God every day that she had. Without Prim, he would be completely lost.

His stomach grumbled irritably, a grim reminder that he hadn't eaten since lunch and that was hours ago. He glanced at his watch then at the street signs to get his bearings. It was late, later than he anticipated, too late to grab dinner at the usual spots. A stray memory clicked as he noted the corner of Twelth and Lavinia just up ahead. Abernathy's Pub was just a few blocks over and should still be serving despite the late hour. The owner, Haymitch, was seldom there this time of night but his partner, known by Ripper even though her name was Janet, kept the kitchen open until last call. The food was plain but filling and the portions were more than generous.

He made the short walk in mere minutes and was soon seated at a corner booth, studying the menu intently after telling the server to bring him a beer. She came back a few moments later with a frothy mug and plunked it down in front of him. Her smile was languid and slow and full of promise. He returned the coy, flirtatious look that accompanied the smile before catching himself. He'd already made that mistake tonight and had no intentions of repeating it. He ordered the specialty burger with a side of fries, returning the menu with a tepid smile. He couldn't help but notice the way her face fell as she tucked the menu under her arm as she turned away. Peeta let out a sigh as he stared disconsolately at the flickering TV holding court above the bar. He'd managed to fuck up yet again. No matter what he did, he always managed to disappoint somebody.

She came back shortly bearing a steaming plate loaded down with more food than he could eat. He waited until she placed it before him along with a bottle of ketchup before giving her a smile along with warm thanks. The girl, whose tag identified her as Delly, beamed at him before heading to another table where a couple had just taken their seats.

His gaze wandered from the screen to the cheerful blonde and back again. He knew it was a bad idea, it was too soon and he was letting recklessness override his customary caution. Coming here was a bad idea, a foolish mistake. He forced himself to finish the rest of his meal, left a generous tip, and left before he did something that he would definitely regret. Home then. That was the only place left to go.

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The shop was dark and desolate; seemingly abandoned in the thin moonlight. He cut down the alley to the secluded door that led to an upstairs apartment. He flipped on the light and stared in dissatisfaction at the tiny room. The walls were still dull, weathered beige. The carpet was still dingy, faded brown. The cast off sofa that he'd picked up from Goodwill for a song still sagged in the middle….a tired, beaten mess. The only splash of color was a framed painting that took pride of place over the chipped and dented mantle. He crossed the room and stood before it, his eyes taking in every swirl and brush stroke. He remembered the place as if it were yesterday, though he hadn't been there in more than ten years.

The meadow stretched out like a tear drop in the vast expanse of woods behind his childhood home. The grass made a feather soft carpet in vibrant emerald dotted here and there with spots of color…pink wild roses, purple violets, and canary dandelions. The stream was a ribbon of liquid sunlight as it meandered its way toward the distant river. Two forms were barely visible, almost obscured by the drooping branches of a willow that hugged the bank. Blonde hair gleamed like spun gold in the honey tinted light. Her face was obscured by a long curtain of hair that tossed and twined in the shifting breeze. Her hand held that of a small boy who looked up at her admiringly with eyes the same faded blue as the sky above.

He felt himself begin to tremble as he looked at that shrouded face. He remembered that day, and the way her teeth flashed as she smiled. It was one of the few good times. One of the only memories he had of her that he wanted to hang on to. Other memories, shiny and wavering in their intensity, clamored for his notice. He pushed them aside through long practice. Not now. Not now.

The voice, her voice, rose up out of the dark places that he tried so hard to ignore. Nobody could ever love you. You don't deserve it. You're worthless. Stupid boy, how could anyone love a thing like you? His clenched fist met the wall beneath the painting with a muffled thud. The thin line of crimson left went unnoticed. He was trapped; flailing miserably to get away but held there by his own inability to deny the words that cut him like knives. Useless bastard. Good for nothing. Only fit to sleep with the pigs. The very air about him vibrated as the memories continued to roll in like the tide. Get in there. Don't make a sound. You can come out when I say you can. Don't make me tell you again. Tears burned his eyes and made scorching lines down his face. All he ever wanted was to be loved. All he ever wanted….

Peeta found himself on his knees, head in his hands and sobs tearing at his throat. Why did he keep doing this to himself? Why, after all these years, did she still have the power to reduce him to a pathetic, cowering heap? Why? He rolled shakily to his feet, avoiding the painting and his own eyes reflected in the darkened glass of the television screen. In desperation, he flipped the switch, hoping that he could find a distraction, anything to keep him from going back there again.

The fanfare of the local news broadcast sounded in the silent room. He reached for the remote but stopped as a somber face filled the screen. "Another grisly discovery was made tonight at a local eatery. Although we could get no confirmation from officers at the scene, we have learned that a third victim of the killer known as the Dollmaker was found just a few hours ago. Claude Templesmith is coming to us live via satellite with a report. What do you have for us, Claude?" Caesar Flickerman's grave tone was mirrored by the reporter that replaced him.

"Caesar, we have yet to confirm any details but we have learned that the owner came in around 10 pm to close. What she found was horrifying. We have obtained a copy of the 911 call. The police have cordoned off the street and are still trying to put together a cogent picture of what happened here tonight." The image shifted to a slender girl with a long braid hanging down her back, her expression serious and subdued. The camera zoomed in for an instant, giving a brief glimpse of stormy gray eyes and a generous mouth taut with anxiety and unease. "We'll keep you updated as new facts become available. This is Claude Templesmith for Pamem News."

Peeta sat back in his seat, eyes unfocused as his mind raced to process what he'd just seen. Her face. The way she seemed to radiate loss and sadness even though she had no way of knowing before she walked through the door what she was going to find. Her eyes. They were the color of a storm laden sky, clouds heavy with rain and laced with lightning. They held a banked and bitter fire. She had known hurt and heartache. He didn't know how he knew that about her, but he felt the truth of it. That fleeting moment imbedded itself in his memory, pushing all others aside. Something like hope flickered within him, unexpected and unwelcome. He didn't want the distraction that this unknown girl offered. He didn't need it.

Still, there was something about her that called out to something in him…that demanded an answer. This was new, foreign, and strange. He'd never felt anything like it. There was something about her that drew him…a moth to a flame. The possibility of burning his wings held him back; reined him in. She was a complication. That didn't stop him from wondering. What put that lost look in her eyes? Would he ever know even if he got the chance to ask? Wounds like that ran deep and the reasons for them were rarely talked about.

He headed for the bedroom, pulling his t-shirt over his head as he went. He showered, changed, and climbed between the sheets before shutting off the lamp. The room was immediately swathed in darkness. The cool cotton of the pillow soothed him, pulled him into the nebulous place between waking and sleep. His last thought before sliding into the abyss was of a swinging braid and of mist colored eyes.

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Katniss straightened, knuckling her back and rubbing the back of her neck tiredly. SID collected their findings, tagged them, and sorted them into the proper containers for transport to the lab. Finnick gave her a small salute before he pushed through the doors, a heavily laden box cradled in his arms. She sighed as she considered the sheer amount of stuff they'd gathered. The fingerprints alone would take weeks to sort out. They would have to get a set of prints from each employee on shift that day, every supplier who had access to the immediate area, as well as samples of uniforms, linens, and packing/storage materials. Most of it would be useless in the final outcome of the case. The high-profile nature demanded that they take every precaution and explore every practical lead. It was hard to keep the investigation moving forward when faced with such obstacles. Katniss was determined to keep momentum. Another of Cray's sayings was that a case was like a shark. It had to keep moving or it drowned.

Gale met her at the front counter, his brows knotted together. She gave him an inquiring look, and got a disgruntled huff by way of reply. "What? Don't tell me that you're already in rebel mode on this. We have to work it by the numbers, Gale. No hotshot, cowboy antics. There are too many eyes on us now. We can't afford any mistakes."

He grunted, his eyes straying to the ring of reporters still clustered behind the tape. "Vultures," he grumbled. "I fucking hate this, Catnip. Feels like we're working in a damned fishbowl."

She nodded, eyes sweeping the room around them. Seeing no one close by, she muttered, "I've got a bad feeling about this one. Too much attention and too many irons in the fire."

Gale sidled closer, his head almost touching hers. "We've managed to keep the painting out of the limelight so far. That's our ace in the hole."

"Find the materials and link it to the crime and we have a homerun. We have to figure out how he's choosing them. If we can do that, we can get a decent profile together. Do that and we can anticipate his next move and then we'll put the bastard behind bars where he belongs."

"So how do you want to play this?" Gale's expression shifted to one of intense concentration. She recognized it as his hunting face. He was working out a plan, thinking of ways to spin what they already knew into a trap to catch a killer. Give him enough time and he would put it together. Snares had been his specialty when they were kids, hunting and fishing instead of the usual juvenile antics most their age participated in. He had toyed around with joining the military but decided against it. Surprisingly, he chose the police academy instead. He wanted to make a difference but in his own way. He wanted to work in an arena where the lines weren't drawn in indelible ink.

Katniss shrugged, her attention on the diener who had wrapped and bagged the body and was in getting it ready for transport. His movements were deliberate and controlled with no wasted motion. "I think we need to focus on the potential victim pool. We need to get the word out and raise awareness. We know who his likely targets are. We just have to figure out the common thread between them."

He nodded slowly, eyes already weighing and measuring possible avenues. "We have to look at what we know. Is there a customer that frequented all three places or a common supplier? Did the girls know each other? Is there a connection between the restaurants? There are a million scenarios that would fit, Katniss, and we have to narrow it down."

This was familiar territory. They fell into their assigned roles by rote. He asked the leading questions, she tracked answers as she would game in the woods. Her intuition shaped and molded by his reason. It made them excellent hunting partners then and now. She had followed him, at his urging, into the academy. His long-time girlfriend, Johanna, also signed up. Johanna's reasons for becoming a cop differed significantly from theirs. The uncle that raised her had retired from the force after thirty years of service. She'd grown up living and breathing it. It was in her blood. Katniss hadn't considered the job until she saw the view from the other side of the fence. Her only friend, other than Gale, had disappeared in the spring of their senior year. Madge left home after saying a hurried goodbye to her mother but never made it to school. Three days later, her mutilated body was found in a ravine thirty miles from home. The killer had never been caught. Katniss couldn't forget how hollow she felt when her mother broke the news. Madge was the closest thing she had to a sister. It felt as if she'd lost part of herself, and never gotten it back. She couldn't help but think of her friend with every new case, wondering about what could have been had things gone differently. That, unfortunately, was something she would never know.

"Let's start simple. Where does he find them?" She questioned.

He rummaged through his briefcase and pulled out a file. Inside, there was a map with the two earlier locations marked. He studied it closely before adding a new ex for Sae's. She heard his swift intake of breath and bent to look for herself. The three symbols clustered around a neighborhood known simply as the Hob. It sprawled over a thirteen block radius and centered on a pocket-sized park named after a character from a popular series written by a hometown girl. Mockingjay Park was something of a byword in the department. During the day, it was filled with families and seniors. After dark, the seedier side claimed it for their own. Every night, deputies were called out to deal with disorderly teens, indigents sleeping on benches, or drunks haunting the paths and walkways. It wasn't the worst part of town by any means but it was also not a place you wanted to be once the sun went down.

"Hell and fire," she breathed. "He's a local. He has to be close, Gale. He knows the lay of the land. He takes his time and studies them before making his move. He's in the open when he does his thing. He kills them, paints them up, and then disappears. He couldn't stay out of sight unless he was familiar with his surroundings."

"So we need to canvas the local restaurants, bars and pubs," Gale announced unnecessarily. "Ask around. Somebody has to have seen something out of the ordinary. We have our fucking haystack, Catnip. Now we just have to find the needle."

She felt the blood in her veins speed up with the realization that they were closing in. The dim, shadowy figure in her mind started to take shape. He was becoming real to her. The closer she got; the more tangible he would become. "I'll start making the rounds first thing tomorrow. We'll need to put a list together so I can keep track of them. Let's call it in so that we can get a plan put together. Boggs will want to put more boots on this one. It's time to get off our asses and start knocking on doors."

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The next morning, Captain Boggs called them together. His ruddy features tended toward sternness but they could see satisfaction rolling off him in waves. Progress had been made. They had ground to cover but they weren't going in blind. The Doll maker had marked his territory. Now, they needed to find him before he killed again.

"I have a list of all the businesses in the designated area that fit our profile. We're going to divide up into four teams and get them knocked out as quickly as possible. The list is divided up by neighborhoods. Each of you will have a three block radius to cover. Leave no stone unturned. There is a clue out there. Go find it. Everdeen, you and Mason will cover Lavinia through Pollux. Hawthorne, you and Beetee will take Snow through Heavensbee. Odair, you and Leeg will take Cressida through Portia. Last but not least, Brutus and Gloss will take Venia through Trinket. Stick with your partners, call it in if you run into trouble, and watch your six. Our guy could be anywhere."

The teams gathered up their pages and compared notes before heading out. Johanna blew Gale a hurried kiss before he ducked out of the squad room with Beetee trailing behind, shaking his head at their display. "Okay," she said once the commotion had died down. "How many dumps do we have to trudge our way through before we can call it a day?"

Katniss let out a low laugh as she scanned the page in her hand. "Looks like we got off light, Jo. Gale and Beetee had at least ten. We only have seven and one of those can be scratched off because he's already been there." Johanna looked slightly more cheerful so Katniss continued, "Three cafes, two bars, and a bakery. It should be relatively simple. They're all fairly small; no more than eight to ten employees each."

"Let's go to the bakery first," Johanna decided. "I skipped breakfast and could really go for some freshly made carbs now."

Katniss shrugged and fished her keys out of her pocket before heading for the door. "Sounds good to me. I skipped breakfast this morning too. A doughnut and coffee sounds like heaven."

Johanna nodded amiably, "Well, let's get to it then. What's this place called anyway?"

Katniss pulled out her sheet and scanned the names before answering, "Mellarks," she answered. "Owned and operated by Peeta Mellark." She snorted under her breath. "Peeta…that's rich." Johanna threw her a questioning look. She rolled her eyes and explained, "Peeta, pita. He's a baker who's named after bread. Get it?"

Johanna shrugged, "That means he must be good at his job, right?"

"It means nothing," Katniss growled. "Let's get this damned show on the road."

"Yes let's do that," Johanna returned. "I'm hungry."

Katniss groaned but followed her out the door. She had the feeling that today would give them a new handle on the case. She felt a clock ticking in her head, counting down the minutes until she had the Doll maker in her sights. Then she would put him where he belonged…behind bars.

End Part 2…


	3. Lost Light

Chapter 2: Lost Light

_"Somehow he would see, that there was lost light in all places of darkness and that if he found it, it would save him." ~~~~Harry Bosch, as written by Michael Connelly in Lost Light_

Mellark's Bakery was a graceful two-story building on the corner of Pollux and Seneca. The surrounding neighborhood looked like a postcard with its wrought iron and flower laden window boxes. In those picturesque surroundings, the plain façade of the bakery made it distinctive. The only nod to the artistic sensibilities of the rest of the street was a dark blue awning and the name written in elegant scrollwork on the big display window.

The parking lot was half-filled at this hour, showing that business might not be booming but was steady enough to call for the five employees listed on the bakery's LinkedIn profile. Katniss slid the standard issue Crown Vic into an empty space and stared at the rows of elaborately decorated cakes in the display. Johanna whistled under her breath, her brows lifting nearly to her hairline.

"Obviously, Bread Boy does know what he's doing. Those look too pretty to eat. I'd almost swear that those flowers are real." She shook her head in disbelief. "How the hell do they do that?"

Katniss side-eyed her and couldn't resist the snarky reply that rose to her lips. "Why don't we go in and you can ask him yourself."

Johanna rolled her eyes, gave Katniss an impolite one-fingered salute, and threw the car door open. "Since you're being a smart ass, you can buy breakfast." Her smug grin was contagious. Katniss couldn't help the answering smile that quirked her lips upward. She shrugged noncommittally and followed Johanna into the heaven-scented bakery.

The warm air was redolent with spices and heavy with sugar and yeast. Katniss couldn't stop herself from breathing deeply, holding it, and then letting it out slowly. She wanted to drink it with a straw, gobble it up by the spoonful. She spared Johanna a quick glance from the corner of her eye and almost laughed at the woman's bewildered expression. The heady aroma of rising dough, baking bread, and the warm bite of cinnamon tinged with a hint of brown sugar were overwhelming.

A smallish girl grinned at their reactions from behind the counter. Her dark blue polo and visor accentuated the cornflower blue of her eyes and gave a sheen to the long tail of honey blonde hair falling down her back. "Welcome to Mellarks," she murmured. "I'm Prim Mellark. How can I help you?"

Johanna stepped forward with an outstretched hand while the other nimbly removed her wallet from her jacket pocket. She held it up, letting the girl get a good look at the badge and accompanying photo before answering. "We'd like to ask you a few questions, Miss Mellark. We'd also like to speak with any female employees that are on shift. It's very important."

Prim's smile faded, her eyes taking on a worried cast as she looked from Johanna to where Katniss stood, silently watching the exchange. "Of course, Detective," she replied. "We'll help in any way that we can. It's only me and Posy today out front. My brother is in the back. Please excuse me and I'll go get them."

Johanna gave an acknowledging nod and smiled her thanks. "Thank you, Miss Mellark. We appreciate your cooperation." Prim's lukewarm nod pulled a puzzled frown from Johanna. She raised a questioning brow in Katniss's direction, tilting her head toward the swinging kitchen door. Katniss gave a small headshake as she let her gaze roam around the room. Something felt off. She couldn't put her finger on it.

The coifed and fussy interior was something of a shock after viewing the plain, unassuming exterior. Bistro tables of dark wood and metal were randomly placed about the airy, open room. White lacy table cloths covered them, topped with clear glass vases holding multihued blooms. Ferns and potted plants were arranged artfully in the corners and sills. The whole atmosphere was light and lively and contrived. It looked like what one would assume a bakery was supposed to look like. It was lovely to the eye but something about it set Katniss's teeth on edge. The sound of heels clicking on the tile pulled her eyes away from the studied tangle of plants toward the half doors that led to the kitchen.

The amiable blonde returned, followed closely by a tiny brunette dressed similarly in a navy blue smock and visor. Her chestnut hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail that hung to the middle of her back. They approached the waiting pair, an unexplained tension clear in the thin white lines of their mouths. Johanna held her arms out loosely, hands splayed at her side.

"Please don't be alarmed. We're just here to ask some questions," she said soothingly. "Nothing more than that."

The two exchanged glances, their faces still taut with worry. Their eyes danced around the bakery, avoiding Johanna's steady stare. Posy visibly recoiled when her eyes met Katniss's. Johanna gestured silently toward the nearest table and waited until they had taken their seats before pulling out a chair. Katniss let Johanna take the lead, choosing instead to wander aimlessly around the bakery. It was a quaint place, if a little frilly for her taste. It reminded her of the old-fashioned ice cream parlors, minus the chrome and vinyl booths. She caught snatches of the ongoing conversation, turning now and then to look at the two girls. They decided to play the story as straight as they could without giving crucial information away. The knowledge of the painted faces was confined to a select few despite the media circus surrounding the case. The signature, however, had been kept under wraps. That bit of evidence would put the last knot in the noose the killer had made for his own neck. God himself couldn't save the bastard once they were able to find him.

"This visit is to make sure that the community is aware of what's going on and that people are taking precautions," Johanna repeated the adage in reply to a sotto voce question from Prim. "We want to emphasize the importance of using common sense rules to keep you safe, Miss Mellark. You are aware of what's been going on in the area. I'm sure you've seen it on the news and in the papers. There are a lot of rumors floating around. We want to give you as many of the facts as we can so that you know what to do in the event that a situation arises."

The two girls exchanged another of the looks that had passed between the two since the conversation began. Katniss couldn't help but be curious. She continued to make her way around the bakery, stopping to inspect a collection of antique postcards that had been attractively framed. She looked as if she had no part in the discussion across the way when in fact; she took in every word and gesture. Something was definitely not right.

"What sort of things are you talking about?" Prim asked hesitantly. "I took a rape defense course in school. They taught us how to do a lot of stuff if we were ever attacked. Is that what you mean?"

Johanna nodded, a friendly smile that lit her face making her seem much less intimidating than her usual flint edged stare. She gave Prim an approving look to go along with the grin. "It's very similar to that Miss Mellark. The RAD courses focus on what to do if you are attacked. These are just some hard and fast ways to try to keep it from happening in the first place. Stuff like having somebody with you at all times, especially when working late. Don't walk anywhere alone. If you notice suspicious activity, you should call the police immediately and get to a busy area where there are other people. The most important thing is not to panic. Being able to keep your head can and does save lives."

Posy swallowed noisily and twined her fingers together tightly on the table top. The knuckles were stiff and white. "So it's true," she whispered. "The stuff that we've heard about is true. There's a guy killing girls in the Hob. He's really out there."

Katniss chose that moment to break her silence. "It's real." She crossed the room and took the last remaining chair. "It's real and it's scary. That's why we're here, Posy. We need your help. It's the only way we're going to stop this guy before it happens again." She leaned forward to emphasize her point. "We're up to three and we don't think he's going to stop unless we catch him. Will you help us?"

Prim stared at her wordlessly, her mouth hanging open. She started to speak, but just as quickly bit her tongue. Katniss couldn't help but notice the way her hands clenched and unclenched on the lacy tablecloth. Prim caught the direction of her gaze and glared at the wrinkles she'd left. "What would we have to do?" She finally asked. "How does this work?"

Katniss's eyes narrowed as she watched the petite blonde. She chose her words with care as she seemingly turned her attention back to the front window display. Those cakes really were something. She found it difficult to believe that something so beautiful and lifelike could be made from sugar and flour. They were pieces of art and, as Johanna had so aptly pointed out, too pretty to eat. "We're asking the community to keep their eyes open and to call the special hotline we've set up if they notice anything out of the ordinary." She gave Johanna quick look and smiled to herself as the woman picked up the explanation mid-sentence.

"We have leads and are working every tip that comes in," Johanna asserted. "Every new tidbit leads us to another piece of the puzzle. Eventually, it will lead us home."

Katniss abandoned the chair to look at the artwork that graced the walls. There were the obligatory nature scenes and unimaginative faux European prints in keeping with the flavor of the neighborhood. There were a few scattered here and there that she couldn't help but give a second look. The lines were more refined, the details more elegant, the colors more subtle. She paused before one depicting a flower strewn meadow. The flowers seemed oddly familiar in the shape of the petals and arrangement of the blossoms. She tapped her lips thoughtfully, half-turning to take a quick look around the bakery before it dawned on her. The cakes. The painting was done by the same hands that had crafted the cakes in the window. A feminine chuckle at her elbow pulled her head around to meet Prim Mellark's amused gaze.

"You have a good eye," Prim enthused. "Not many people notice it. I think an art professor who came in to pick up his daughter's birthday cake was the last one. Peeta duplicated the wildflower design from that painting in the cake. The guy couldn't believe it. He insisted on taking a picture of the cake with the painting."

Katniss smiled at the story and waved her hand, taking in the bakery. "I've never seen anything like it. Johanna and I decided that they are too pretty to eat. It just wouldn't be right."

"That's a shame," a new voice interrupted. "They're made to be enjoyed."

Katniss wheeled, instinctively reaching for her gun. She caught herself just in time, choosing instead to wrap her hand around her braid to stop the tremors that spasmed her fingers. Startled blue eyes followed the movement before locking on her face. An unexpected flicker of what could only be recognition strobed in the azure depths. His face flushed, eyes alternately trained on her before darting away. He shot his sister a quelling look to deter the sudden onslaught of giggles before commenting gruffly, "Cakes are for eating, not to be looked at. That defeats the purpose."

She didn't know what she thought a baker was supposed to look like but this wasn't it. In fact, he was the antithesis of everything she expected. Katniss didn't know what to make of it. She'd anticipated older, heavy-set, possibly doused in flour and frosting. Instead, he was broad-shouldered and slim-hipped. Ashy blonde curls fell in waves around his ears and brushed the collar of his navy blue Mellark's polo. She scowled as those sky blue eyes met hers again. Contacts, she decided. They had to be contacts. Nobody had eyes that color.

"I don't think she meant it as an insult, Peeta." Prim scolded. "You don't have to sound so fierce."

It was almost amusing how quickly crimson flooded his cheeks. He muttered a reply under his breath that Katniss didn't catch, but Prim understood him perfectly. She laughed, poked him affectionately in the rib, and waved hands dramatically. "I give up. You're right, big brother, and I'm wrong. Of course, she was insulting you. How could I have missed it?"

The teasing, playful tone spoke volumes about their relationship. Katniss bit back a smile at the meaningful glares and wide-eyed innocent looks that passed between the two. She decided the most diplomatic way to break the stalemate was to divert their attention. Besides, she had five more businesses to visit and had already handed Johanna more than enough ammunition with that unhurried perusal of the baker to make the rest of her day hell. Pulling out her ID, she flipped it open and practically shoved it under his nose.

"I'm Detective Katniss Everdeen, Mr. Mellark. My partner and I came by to ask a few general questions and to ask for the help of local businesses with an ongoing investigation." She trailed off as his expression darkened. That feeling of something being off set off a warning bell in the back of her mind. It only grew louder when Prim said her brother's name softly and stroked his arm in a soothing way. The man's prominent jaw further hardened as he gritted his teeth, the sky blue of his eyes becoming dull and leaden. Katniss threw a glance over her shoulder and caught Johanna's narrow-eyed squint. She felt it too. "I know this kind of thing often makes people uncomfortable, especially if you don't deal with it on a daily basis," Katniss said softly. "We only want eyes and ears. That's all. We're not asking for citizens to become personally involved. Information is all that we are after."

He shook his head, blinking slowly as if coming out of a trance. He unconsciously wet his lips as his eyes flicked from her to Johanna and back again. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "I saw the news last night. It just shook me up. I know Sae. She was a friend of my father's when he ran the bakery. She's been a customer since before I was born." He ran a hand through his already disheveled curls. "It's…Sae has to be devastated. She treats the people who work for her like family. This is going to kill her."

Katniss divided a sympathetic look between the two Mellarks. Prim's eyes flooded with tears, but she stayed focused on her brother, her hand moving unceasingly up and down his arm. "I'm very sorry. I know this must be difficult for you. It's not an easy thing even when you don't know the people involved. It's tough and coming to the realization that there will more make it even more painful. That's why we need your help, yours and others in the neighborhood. It's the only way we're going to end this quickly. We need every minute."

Peeta gave her an odd look, but didn't comment further. Posy, however, spoke up. "Won't he find out if we help? That could make him mad. What could we do then? How could we keep him from coming here?"

Katniss opened her mouth to reply but stopped as Johanna took the lead once more. "Posy, the hotline is anonymous. We don't release where we get the information for just that reason. There are too many unknowns. You should do what you think best. That's the most anyone can ask of you, including us." The girl's face lost some of the taut nervousness that had been there since they'd first entered the bakery. She even offered up a tentative smile which Johanna returned wholeheartedly.

Katniss turned her attention to the others, noting that both of them seemed to have a better hold on their emotions. Peeta flushed as their eyes met, his gaze dancing away from hers. She continued to watch him as he fidgeted with the hem of his shirt, flicking glances in her direction now and then. She finally broke the silence with a question of her own. "How long have you been painting, Mr. Mellark?"

He started abruptly, looking almost shocked that she would ask. "Uh, I…that is…I went to art school after I graduated from high school. I've drawn since I was five."

Katniss gestured to the paintings. "You have a very distinct style. It shows."

He cleared his throat and nodded jerkily, "Thank you. It's just something that I do to pass the time." He hesitated, but asked almost tentatively, "Do you like art, Detective Everdeen?"

Katniss caught a glimpse of Johanna's smirk out of the corner of her eye but chose to ignore it. "I'm not really familiar with it, not the mechanics anyway. I can't draw a straight line." She smiled slightly, with a self-deprecating edge. "I've always been fascinated by things that I can't do. I've always liked music but can't play an instrument. I like art but I can barely hold a pencil upright. I wouldn't even know where to start with painting an real portrait."

Peeta's mouth turned up at the edges. "That makes sense. To be honest, I think we all do that. I like music too but I can't fathom how to play or sing for that matter. I'm horrible. People would probably pay me to shut up if they heard me."

"Oh, Katniss doesn't have that problem," Johanna said smugly. "She can stop the birds in the trees with one note." Katniss scowled at her friend, brows pulled down low to make her point. Johanna, in her typical not give a damn manner, ignored it. "But that's a story for another time. We should be going. We have several other stops to make. Thank you for your time and attention."

Katniss kept her face blank as she added her thanks to Johanna's and then followed her out the door. She glanced back, meeting those sky blue eyes one last time before the door clicked shut behind her. She was still unsettled by the odd reaction as well as the flicker of recognition so clear when he looked at her. As they walked to the car, she tried to figure out if she'd seen him before. She couldn't place him so it seemed unlikely. He wasn't someone easily forgotten. She realized that she had stood by the car for several moments and looked up to see a broad, knowing smile on Johanna's face. "Shut up," Katniss said shortly. "I don't want to hear it." She unlocked the door, hit the lock release, and climbed in before slamming the door behind her. "What the hell was that about anyway? I don't make the birds stop with one note. I never did. Besides, it's none of his damned business."

Johanna slid languidly into the passenger seat, her expression containing no hint of apology or remorse. "Get over yourself, Katniss. It's not like your singing is a state secret. You aren't bad. I don't know what you're getting so blasted huffy about. So Bread Boy knows you can sing. Big deal. He likes you. Instead of giving him the company line, you should have given him your number. Nothing says I love you from a cop like their private cell phone number."

"Shut up," Katniss repeated. "I don't want to give him my number. Quit worrying about my social life and focus on the case, Johanna. Did anything strike you as odd?"

"You mean other than all those significant looks they were trading back and forth," Johanna commented smugly. "I'm not sure what the deal is with those three but they weren't exactly happy with us being there, Bread Boy especially. He did seem rather interested in you though. In fact, he almost acted like he knew you. Have you been holding out on me, Katniss?"

"Fuck off, Jo," Katniss bit out. "Jesus Christ, get your head out of your ass. We need to concentrate on the case. Other than the odd looks, did anything seem out of the ordinary to you?"

Johanna fingered her chin thoughtfully, eyes staring blankly through the windshield as she considered the question. "Well, I didn't get to check the place as closely as you did but there were a few things that stuck out. The décor is completely off-old school ice cream parlor meets flea market art gallery. The paintings are mismatched and not because he was following a learning curve. They don't belong together."

Katniss grinned and tapped her thumbs excitedly against the steering wheel as she cut rapidly in and out of traffic. "You're right. They don't belong together." She couldn't help but laugh at Johanna's disgruntled expression. "Don't be that way. You didn't look at them as closely as I did. You had other priorities which was just as important if not more so." Katniss pulled her phone out of her pocket and slid it across the seat. Johanna lifted an inquiring brow but picked up the phone. "It should be first in the gallery. Give it a look."

Johanna flipped to the appropriate menu and toggled the photo gallery open. She tapped the first picture to enlarge it and studied it closely for several passing minutes. Her disbelieving chuckle cut through the silence like a blade. "I'll be damned, Katniss. That's a hell of a find."

"It's only on the triptych by the door," Katniss revealed. "All the others were signed with a full signature or the first letter and last name. I almost swallowed my tongue when I saw it. I almost couldn't speak when Prim Mellark commented that I had a good eye." She tapped the phone with her finger, and gave Johanna a triumphant smile. "We'll have to get it to Finnick first thing so that he can do a comparison. It looks right but we can't jump to conclusions."

"So you think the artist is signing his work," Johanna replied.

"Of course he is," Katniss retorted. "It's his masterpiece. He's proud of it. Of course the bastard is going to sign it."

"Be careful," Johanna cautioned. "It's definitely suggestive but for all we know…our perp saw the marking and took a liking to it."

"That's why I'm going back there. It's thin but it has to be checked out. I think he'll talk to me."

"Talk to you?" Johanna questioned. "You don't think they're his?"

"The triptych was in a completely different style from the others. I suppose it's possible that he could have changed over time. It's possible but unlikely. He'll be able to tell me where the painting came from. That's the million dollar question."

"It's a good excuse to see him again anyway," Johanna observed.

Katniss stared out the window, her drumming fingers beating out a rapid tattoo against the molded leather of the wheel. Her face tinted pick but she refused to meet Johanna's knowing look. She tightened her grip on the wheel until her knuckles were strained and white. The silence grew heavier as the moments dragged on. Finally, Katniss heaved a sigh and loosened her grip, shaking her hand and then opening and closing it rapidly a few times. "Shut up," she said gruffly.

Johanna's low laughter was her only reply.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO XOXOXOXOXO

Her name was Clove. Her friends would say that she was quiet and intense. She bristled at the idea that because she was small and slight, she couldn't take care of herself. Clove Matthews would never be a victim. Not until the Dollmaker made her one.

She listened to the lecture the cops gave, silently rolling her eyes as they pressed the idea home that no one was bullet proof. She sent the other girls home early and locked up, laughing at the notion of the monster under the bed. When the shadow detached itself from the wall and moved toward her, she froze. Her mouth gaped open first in surprise, then in a choked off scream. Her eyes met his as fingers found and inexorably tightened about her throat. She managed one word, one syllable before a quick snap ended her life.

"You."

End chapter 2….


	4. The Darkness Within

Chapter 3: The Darkness Within

_"It was about taking that dark thing that you knew was out there in the world and bringing it inside. Making it yours" ~~~Harry Bosch as written by Michael Connelly_

Seeing Finnick Odair in the SID lab was like seeing a fish sprout wings and fly. The man was eye-catching in every sense of the word. The fluorescent lights were usually harsh and unforgiving but not even the cold, blue-tinged light could make Finnick anything less than unforgivably handsome.

Katniss could admit that he was particularly easy on the eyes. Tall and lean, with coppery hair that tended toward waves and sea-green eyes that danced with humor and grace-the man was made to be fawned over. Luckily or unluckily for her, she'd never been affected by his charms. He was too pretty, too charismatic, too sure of himself at times. Katniss knew that it was a façade, a way to protect what was an easily bruised and good heart.

When he met Annie Cresta, Katniss breathed a sigh of relief. The wispy beauty saw past Finnick's pretty face to the good and decent man beyond. They met at a department function that Katniss had been reluctant to attend. Annie had come with her for moral support and to keep her and Johanna from killing each other. The three were soon joined by Gale and then Finnick, who wasted little time before turning on the charm. Unfortunately for him, Annie wasn't impressed. She'd shut him down and avoided his follow-up attempts like the plague for the rest of the evening. Katniss had taken pity on him, telling Annie that she should give him another chance. Finnick didn't waste his second chance and the two were married a short six months later. He fully admitted that he owed her one. Katniss laughed and threatened him often with outlandish demands but it was a debt she had no intentions of collecting on. Both of her friends were happy and that's all she wanted.

"I know it's trouble when I see you down here, Everdeen," he drawled, pulling off his gloves and shooting them toward the garbage can. Katniss followed the arc and smirked when they landed on the floor a few feet from the receptacle. "What do you have for me? Make it quick. The new one they found this morning has us buried. I'm going to be here until midnight as it is."

Katniss brandished her phone. "Do you have a wireless printer or do I need a USB cord to get this printed? If this is what I think it is, we might have our first lead to finding this asshole."

Finnick's brows lifted in surprise but he didn't stop to ask questions. "USB would probably be faster. The wi-fi down here is shit. Did you bring yours or do I need to hunt one down?" Katniss rummaged through her bag and finally dug a cord out of the depths. She muttered a few choice words, which made Finnick grin. She passed the phone to him and waited until he tabbed through the menus before pulling up the picture she indicated. He whistled under his breath. "Where the heck did you find this?" He hit a button and waited until the image rolled off the printer. "It looks right."

Katniss shrugged. "Johanna and I got a lead on our neighborhood canvas. This turned up out of the blue. We want to see if it is a match before we take it to Boggs. Can you do a quick comparison?"

Finnick brought up an image viewer and played with a few filters before letting out an aggravated sigh. "I don't usually mess with this stuff. Down here, we all have our own little niches to fill. You need Beetee. He does all the image comparisons. Hang on. He should be back from lunch." Finnick took the printout and headed deeper into the catacombs that made up the SID unit.

Johanna took Finnick's abandoned chair and propped her booted feet on the immaculate counter. Katniss shot her a disapproving look then turned her attention back to the computer screen. The mark was much clearer than it had been on the small screen of her phone. She bent closer, tracing the lines with her finger. "It looks like a letter or an initial. I can't make it out. It's not shaped like it would be on a page. It almost looks like a tattoo. You know what I mean? Whenever someone has a name tattooed on, they always pick either blocky lettering or a curly, rolling variant. It's strange. I'd almost swear that this was a letter. I just can't make out which one."

Johanna dropped her feet to the floor and bent toward the screen. "Tattoo lettering, huh? That's as good a guess as any. It looks like a hieroglyph to me, that wonky picture script that they had to find the rock to be able to read it."

Hiding a smile behind her hand, Katniss coughed back a bark of laughter. "You mean the Rosetta Stone?

Johanna looked confused but shrugged noncommittally. "Whatever. You know what I mean though. They had a picture or symbol for everything. That looks kinda like those symbols."

It was Katniss' turn to look thoughtful. She bent to the monitor again, studying the image intently. "I suppose. I don't really spend a lot of time studying up on that stuff." She gave her friend an appraising look. "I didn't think it was something that piqued your interest either. You really do learn something new every day."

Johanna smirked. "Don't stress out too much over it. I'm not that interested. It was Gale and his damned obsession with the History Channel. He watched a marathon of ice Road Truckers or something. He fell asleep on the couch and I was too damned lazy to get up to find the remote. I left it on mainly for noise. Anyway, it was all about ancient Egypt and mummies and thousand-year old buildings. They kept showing those pictures. I guess it stuck with me."

Katniss laughed under her breath. "Okay then. Fair enough." She impulsively hit print and watched impatiently as the paper idled into the tray. She picked up it up and gave it another look, blowing out an irate breath. "I just wish that Finnick would hurry up already. I want to get moving on this if there's something there. This is the first real lead we've had."

As if saying his name conjured him up, Finnick ducked back into the lab. Trailing behind was a pale, thin man with sparse dark hair and thin wire-rimmed glasses. He peered over them at the two women waiting expectantly. In his hands, he held the printout. Finnick gestured unnecessarily, "Katniss, Johanna, I don't know if you've ever met Horace Beecham. We call him Beetee for short. He's going to take a look at this and let us know if you ladies struck gold or not."

Johanna gave a friendly nod while Katniss held her own copy close as she extended her other hand to the man, who eyed it warily before taking it. "Finnick said that you found the subject while canvasing the suspected hunting ground." He waited for her nod before continuing. "I wouldn't have expected it to be displayed so publicly. I've found that the signatures are very personal for these guys. It's not something that you would find hanging on the wall in a restaurant so to speak." He gave a small smile as both Katniss and Johanna winced. "Not usual but not unheard of. Now, let's see what we have." He pulled a transparency from the binder Finnick handed him and laid it side by side with the print out. He mumbled under his breath and turned to the keyboard. The rest of them were soon at a loss as he applied filters, zoomed in on specific areas while backing out on other sections. "Got to clean it up and let the program do its work," he muttered before hitting the print button once more.

"Did you find something?" Finnick questioned.

Beetee took the new image and put it beside the other two lying on the table. He used a felt tip pen to tick off a few points on both sheets. "I think I did," he announced a few moments later. "I'm sorry to say that they aren't exact." Katniss let out a disappointed sigh while Johanna's response was decidedly less ladylike. Her bit off epithet caused Beetee's brows to lift in surprise. "That's not to say that they aren't a match but not an exact one. The signature has been modified and refined somewhat but what you have discovered does seem to be a very early incarnation." He gestured to the marks he'd made earlier. "These show the similarity. The arc at the top of the symbol, the feathering on the down stroke, the tightness and control of the overall figure are all indicative that it was done by the same hand. The earlier version also allows me to firm up one of our assertions about our killer. He's definitely left-handed. You can see from the way the brush strokes are formed that the artist was using his left hand. Up until now, we only had bruising patterns on the second victim's neck to go by. The signature itself didn't really allow us to draw any definite conclusions. This, however, is very helpful."

Katniss felt her hackles rise at the reference to victim two. "Effie Trinket," she bit out. Three pairs of eyes locked on her questioningly. "Her name is Effie Trinket," Katniss mumbled, feeling a flush heat her cheeks. "Sorry but I don't like not using their names. It's not right. They're people, dammit. They deserve to be remembered that way and not as victim one or five or whatever. That just lets the bastard take one more thing from them. I won't give him that."

Beetee peered at her over his glasses as if being confronted with a new specimen, something he'd never met before. Katniss felt her face warm once again but chose not to comment further. The man's pale eyes bore into her as if seeing far more of her than she wanted to display. He gave her a last look before gesturing to the grouping of pictures. "We've run it through the box trying to ascertain the meaning but we came up dry. There were a few hits based on stylistic comparisons but nothing definitive. The closest we have is the Egyptian hieroglyph for a phoenix. Is there any reason to suspect that our killer would be well-versed in an obscure symbolic language?"

"No," Johanna said in self-satisfied tones. "No reason whatsoever." Giving Katniss a smug look, she turned back to the two men who were watching the exchange with interest. "How close was the signature to the phoenix hieroglyph? We might have a lead but we need to know if this is a line of questioning that's worth pursuing."

Beetee studied the three printouts before answering, "The probability hit around the seventy-eighth percentile. Not enough to be conclusive but highly suggestive. I would look for other artwork that has a similar influence. It's thin but it does give us something to go on."

Katniss chimed in, "Were there any other hits, Beetee? Anything at all?"

The man studied her closely. He hesitated before he answered, clearly choosing his words with care. "There was nothing of note, Katniss. Obviously, there was a superficial resemblance to letters of the alphabet written in certain fonts. That seems unlikely though considering the sophistication of the crime. It can't be discounted completely, however. The most intelligent criminal has been known to overlook a small detail that, in hindsight, was the lynchpin in closing the case. What are your thoughts?"

Katniss leaned over the counter, her nail tracing the lazy loops and curves of the transparency. It was the one detail that they'd kept under lock and key. She kept her attention fixed firmly on the symbol as she let her mind work the angles. It was right there, the key to catching this guy. Right there if she could just get it locked down. She could feel it. "He's been watching us all along, definitely since Effie Trinket was discovered. That's when the first headlines calling him the Doll maker hit. Up until then, we weren't treating it like a serial. The scenes were locked down pretty tight and we secured the witnesses before the press got wind. Those two idiots from the medical examiner's office almost let the cat out of the bag. They called them kewpie dolls. We came down on them like a ton of bricks but both swore that they'd only used the term with each other.

The short version is that the media picked up on the term and christened our perp as the Dollmaker. He's starting to take more chances, becoming bolder. We know that he's familiar with them before he takes them down. He knows their hours, when they're alone, and how long he has before they're likely to be discovered. He cut it close to the wire with Rue. She closed up and was there alone for barely a half hour before he made his move. Sae always comes by at the same time to balance the receipts and count the drawers out. He knew and he killed her anyway. He's watching and waiting for us to pick up on the breadcrumbs he's left us. We have to do this."

Finnick nodded in agreement. "It's been the consensus in the lab that the guy is monitoring our investigations. The fact that he was doing something to the faces came to light after the second victim was discovered." He smirked in Katniss' direction but continued on. "I think Katniss is right. He's starting to feel the stress. The time period between the third and fourth was only a few days. It had held steady around the thirty day mark. He's starting to become more erratic. We can't hold to the previous timeline and there's too much pressure to get this thing solved. Something's going to give. We have to do everything in our power to solve this before him kills again."

"So we focus on the signature and run this lead to ground," Johanna announced. "Our Katniss already has a plan to make some inroads. I think that's our best bet. I can hang out on the corner if she needs somebody to hold her hand." Her lips turned up in a mischievous grin. "While she's sweet talking the bread boy, I'm gonna grab some books on hieroglyphs and broaden my horizons. I freaking knew Gale's penchant for reality TV would pay off eventually.."

"Johanna, for fuck's sake, would you shut up about Peeta Mellark already," Katniss groaned. "I'm not going to 'sweet talk the bread boy' as you so crassly put it. I'm going to have a friendly conversation about art and see what comes up. That's all. Keep your damned insinuations to yourself."

Beetee coughed uncomfortably and swept the documents into a pile, mumbling something about having to get back to work as he quickly left the room. Finnick, however, looked anything but innocent as he cradled his chin in an upturned palm and said blithely, "Peeta Mellark? Who or what is a Peeta Mellark and how has he managed to get so far under Everdeen's ironclad skin.

"Don't you worry about it," Katniss snapped. "The only thing that should concern you is whether Boggs will agree that seventy-eight percent is good enough to warrant going after this."

Finnick fingered his chin thoughtfully. "It's the best that we've found so far. I'd say we need to run with it." He peered from one to the other, his curiosity clearly getting the better of him. "Is this Peeta Mellark a suspect? Is that why you don't want to talk about him? You want to get your facts together before putting him under the magnifying glass?"

"No," Katniss said quickly, too quickly. Her cheeks bloomed with vivid color. "There's nothing yet to connect him to any of the victims. He knows Sae through the bakery. He didn't paint the picture that has the signature. The styles are completely different."

Finnick nodded slowly. "So you're discounting that he could have seen the symbol, liked it, and then decided that it would make the perfect final touch to his magnum opus? I haven't met the guy but it seems a bit hasty to cross him off the list so soon."

She steepled her fingers, tapping her lips with the twined digits. "I don't believe it's him. It's too pat, Finn. Why would he have it hanging in the bakery for the world to see if he's marking his victims with it? It's not the Doll maker. He doesn't make stupid mistakes. I know he's becoming bolder and taking more chances but this move is too in your face. He's not going to make it that easy for us."

"I think you're letting him off too easy."

Johanna chuckled. "I think she just wants to check out the merchandise."

Katniss shot her most intimidating glare at the pair before shoving her phone into the front pocket of her jeans and stalking toward the door. "Don't be so huffy, Everdeen." Finnick's voice followed her. "I'm not trying to bust your chops. I'm just looking at the overall picture. Boggs is going to ask the same questions and he will want more than a 'I don't think it's him' from you. Put in the time and make sure you're right. Too much is riding on the outcome."

She stopped with her hand on the door and looked back over her shoulder, gray eyes calm and steady. "I'll do my damned job, Finnick. I'm here to solve the case just like you. Every time he kills, it means that I've failed. I owe it to them to give it everything I've got. Anything less is unacceptable." She gave a small head shake and pushed through the door. Johanna's quiet voice halted her step.

"You don't owe them anything, Katniss. You'll give it everything you've got because that's who you are. That's the way you work. It's not because you owe anybody anything. You can't think like that."

Katniss closed her eyes, unwilling to let the tears burning behind her lids fall. She sucked in a few deep breaths to until she steadied. "I'm going to talk to him. Hopefully he'll tell me where the portrait came from. If he painted it, then that's that. Until then, I can only go with what my gut tells me. Right now, it's telling me that he's not the guy."

"Hang on," Johanna called. "I'll come with you."

Her only answer was the sound of the door's muffled thud against the jamb as it closed behind the infuriating woman.

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The big display window was resplendent with autumnal shades of orange, sable, and gold. She sat in the car, staring fixedly at the display while trying to remember how it looked on her first visit. The only detail she could bring to mind was alternating shades of pink from pale as a baby's skin to deep rhubarb. It was an impressive feat. The display held at eight cakes of varying sizes, each one beautifully decorated. There was a score or more of cupcakes featuring a different tint and a complimentary color. Stripes, dots, waves, berries, flowers and beads. It evoked ripened fields and crisp mornings. Katniss couldn't believe flour and sugar could be coaxed into art but she couldn't doubt what was right in front of her eyes. She fortified herself with a deep breath that she let out slowly before exiting the car.

The froufrou trill of the door bell announced her entry. She was caught up in the dichotomy of the austere exterior in comparison to the mishmash of the interior. The colorful blooms were gone, replaced by artfully arranged cornucopias overflowing with pumpkins, berries, Indian corn, and leaves. The greenery from the previous day was gone. The windows were left bare while corn shocks stood sentinel in the corners. Katniss slowed and stopped, an unbidden smile curving her lips. She hadn't seen one since childhood. It was only missing straw bales and blossoming mums to match the image in her head exactly.

"You came back," the silky smooth voice intruded on her reverie.

Her startled gaze flicked to the bemused expression Peeta Mellark turned her way. He offered up a hesitant smile. "I had a few more questions and hoped that it wouldn't be too much trouble if I dropped by. I figured the morning rush was over by now." She held out her hand and felt her breath catch as he clasped it firmly. "I'm Katniss Everdeen, by the way. I wasn't sure if you'd remember me."

White teeth flashed as he grinned disarmingly but instead of putting her at ease, a tremor danced down her spine. She shook her head, silently berating herself for her lack of focus. She was here for a reason and it wasn't to be to be sidetracked by the way his navy polo emphasized the width of his shoulders or the cornflower hue of his eyes. "I know who you are, Detective Everdeen. I'm just surprised to see you again so soon."

She felt her cheeks warming and sought to cover it up. "We still have a few people to talk to. Your Linkedin profile lists five employees but we only saw you, Posy, and your sister yesterday. I was hoping that the others would be here today. We're also putting together a census of the neighborhood. We would like a clear picture of the businesses and residences. It could be very helpful."

He gestured to the closest bistro and took the seat opposite as she sat down. "I don't understand the part about the census but if you say it will help, I won't argue. You're in luck because both Vick and Ti are here today. Do you want to talk to them at the same time or separately?'

She made a note on the notepad she took from her pocket. "Uh, we can do it all at once. I don't want to hold you up. I just have a few brief questions for you if you don't mind."

He shrugged, his hands making graceful arcs in the air. "Sure. Yeah. Ask whatever you want."

Katniss relaxed in her chair, chewing thoughtfully on her bottom lip. "The outside of the bakery is fairly plain in comparison to the rest of the neighborhood. Every business has made an effort to stand out except for you. I'm curious about why you decided to go that route."

The easy smile stayed in place but there was a tightness present that hadn't been there before. He folded his hands on the table, eyes unconsciously darting around the bakery before coming to rest on her. "My father bought the building and started the bakery. He wanted the products to take center stage. He wanted it kept simple. I didn't want to change that." He looked around the airy room. "My stepmother had other ideas after he died. She confined her decorating to the storefront. Now that Prim and I run the bakery, we're slowly making changes."

"And the artwork?" Katniss questioned lightly. "I know some of them are yours. I'm curious about the rest of them."

"All of them are by neighborhood artists," Peeta commented, his brow furrowed curiously. "There is a street fair every fall. The locals have outdoor stalls to showcase their stuff. We have live music, food, arts and crafts. It's pretty typical but everyone enjoys it. I got the idea last year to display some of the artwork in the bakery. It's mostly paintings and watercolors. There are some drawings that we had matted and framed. The planters are handmade and hand painted."

She smiled slightly. "I didn't know about that. I love that kind of stuff. You guys should advertise." She pushed back from the table and walked to the closest wall. The artwork ran the gamut from amateur to lovely. She easily picked out a pastoral landscape done by Peeta. Her gaze noted the small, neat signature in the corner. A montage of kid's drawings in crayon and chalk had been grouped together and then put under glass. "This is lovely," she murmured. "It's fantastic that you have them out so that they can be enjoyed." She spotted the stylized mark on another small canvas, this one portraying a dandelion losing it's seeds to a freshening wind. There was something about the painting that drew her in other than the elusive sign. She wasn't aware that she'd gone silent as her eyes followed the simple lines.

"It's one of my favorites," Peeta said softly behind her. "It's melancholy and hopeful at the same time."

"Did you paint it?" Katniss held her breath, awaiting his answer.

He surprised her by hesitating briefly before commenting. "Yes and no. I have painted a dandelion but not this one. I roughed in the lines of a bunch of canvases then let people choose the picture they wanted to finish."

"Well, it's beautiful," she said softly. "The lines are so real. They seem to leap off the page." She meandered slowly around the room, seeing the decor with new eyes. "How do you name the individual artists?" She asked idly. "I don't see tags or plates."

Peeta watched her carefully, his unease written in the taut lines of his face. "There are tags on the back. We keep them up until it's time for the fair again. The artist can pick up their work then if they want. Otherwise, it stays here and we switch them out."

"According to the season," Katniss observed.

"Yes," Again, a sun-bright smile lit up his face. "We use a lot of seasonal ingredients. My sister likes to highlight that as well as holidays. Eventually, the only thing that will stay the same is the paint color and the furniture. It can be a lot of work but it really shows what we do here."

He nodded briefly to emphasize his point and then turned away. "I'll go get Vick and Ti so you can talk to them, Detective Everdeen. Excuse me."

"Mr. Mellark," she called. "One last thing. Who's in charge of the art projects? You?"

Blue eyes hardened to icy slits. He stiffened and then tried to cover it up by rubbing a hand along his jaw line before scrubbing it through his wayward curls. "No. It changes from year to year. Last year, Effie Trinket had the honors. She took care of everything."

Katniss' mouth was dry as a desert. She swallowed heavily, the name whirling madly through her mind. She watched as he disappeared into the kitchen before sinking bonelessly into the chair. Her thoughts scattered like the colorful leaves caught in a high wind. Search warrant, she thought to herself. We need to get a judge to sign off so we can move on this. Hearing voices coming closer, she straightened in her seat. Effie Trinket. Effie Trinket handled the art. Effie Trinket knew who painted the picture. That knowledge had probably gotten her killed. She'd been the worst in a parade of horrors. Katniss reined in her racing emotions and forced herself to concentrate. Once she finished up here, she had only one thing in mind. First, go back to headquarters to bring Boggs up to speed and then to Judge Paylor's chambers to ask for a search warrant. She was one step closer to the Doll maker. She could feel it.

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The blackened out windows and dim purple bulbs made The Arena something of an oddity in the Hob. It wasn't a pub or a bar. It wasn't much of anything and the owner liked it that way. She didn't exactly fit in with her bright pink hair sculpted into spikes all over her head. Her gumdrop hair color when paired with her usual turquoise eye shadow and purple lipstick made Effie a sight guaranteed catch the eye of and incite whispers. Their stares lingered for longer than considered polite. Effie had long since developed a bulletproof exterior. "Fuck off" and "bite me, asshole" was her standard reply. She delivered both with practiced ease.

The Arena was open from midnight until six from Thursday through Saturday so she was surprised when she unlocked the front door and found him leaning against the counter. "What the fuck? I told you not to come back after the last time. Get the hell out or I'm calling the police."

His heavy steps echoed on the loose boards of the floor as he pushed himself off the counter. "I'll bet you say that to all the boys," he grunted sourly, coming to a stop before her. "I told you not to fuck with me. I warned you what would happen if you didn't listen. I also said it would be your last chance."

Her head reared back defiantly, eyes blazing even in the hazy purple light. "Fuck you. You don't tell me what to do. Nobody does." She gestured furiously. "This is my fucking place, you hear me. It's mine and I want you out of it."

He was exceptionally quick for his size. His solid bulk didn't limit his agility or his ability to take another by surprise. His hand twined in the fuchsia strands before she'd even registered his movement. Her head jerked instinctively in a futile attempt to dislodge his hand. He smiled as he plunged his hands deeper. "Not that easy, doll face. You won't get away like that."

She caught the flicker of something down low and strained to catch a glimpse. "What are you...don't you dare...fuck...don't."

Those dead eyes stared at her unblinking before her jerked her head upright, winding the strands around his fist to keep her still. "Oh I dare...yes, my lovely one...I dare. You'll smile for me in the end. You'll beg me to let you smile at me before this is over."

When they found her, cold and pale as marble, even the strongest had to leave the room and take deep fortifying breaths of the chill morning air. There were no words for the atrocities that had been inflicted upon her. Cray shook his head and swore he'd never seen anything like it, not in his forty years. Effie lay in a heap behind the bar, wearing only the rope that held her upright. The other end was looped and knotted around an exposed water pipe. The bloody grazes marked out how she'd twisted and torn her flesh in a futile attempt to get free. Other telltale bruises on her chest, her hip, and the inner slope of her thigh told the rest of the story. That still wasn't what gave them pause. No...not even that.

The killer had done his work but this was something new. Under the powder and paint...she smiled. Really and truly smiled. It caused even the hardest heart to clench as realization sat in. She had looked the bastard in the eye, knowing those moments were probably her last and she had smiled. It was enough to make the heavens weep.

End part 3...


End file.
